


The Dangerous Side-Effects of Nogitsune Possession

by Q_loves_you



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Canon Divergence, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, LOTS OF PEOPLE, Multi, Nightmares, Pain, Suicidal Thoughts, Tears, everyone is sad, stiles is sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_loves_you/pseuds/Q_loves_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on everything that happened after the nogitsune was defeated. Includes Allison's funeral, Stiles being in pain, Stiles being in more pain, and Lydia being awesome. Also fills in a couple plot holes. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Heichou for being an awesome consultant/editor/beta!

Stiles’ recovery was going slowly, but it was definitely going, Scott thought, so that was something. Stiles had slept for most of the first couple of days, waking up (often screaming) only long enough to eat, shower, or deny the need to talk about his feelings. So, yeah, slowly, but progress was being made, at least according to the hourly reports Scott was getting from Stiles’ father.

Scott was headed over to Stiles’ house on the third day after…everything so that the Sheriff could go back in to work without leaving Stiles alone. The Sheriff had almost refused to go, but Stiles had convinced him that he would be okay with Scott there. Scott had debated calling Lydia and asking her to help him watch over Stiles, but he felt like Stiles would probably see that as insulting and over-protective, and Lydia would probably want some time away from them to recover. She had stayed at Stiles’ house for the first night and helped him sleep, but now it was time for her to think about herself. Plus, this way he would have some time alone with Stiles, even if the circumstances were less than ideal, and he had been missing that. So, Scott parked his bike in the driveway and made his way into Stiles’ house alone. The Sheriff met him at the door, apparently ready to leave as soon as Scott arrived.

“Hey, Scott. Stiles is in my room. I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. I haven’t heard him wake up yet anyway. I’ve been trying to get him to eat something, but he’s barely had anything today. Are you sure you two are going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.” Scott nodded encouragingly and stepped aside so the Sheriff could get out the door.

“There are sandwiches in the kitchen. I don’t know why exactly, but Stiles seems to have decided that making food is therapeutic or something, even though he won’t eat it himself.”

“Okay.”

“There’s also bacon in the fridge, and feel free to order take-out if you think it’ll get him to eat.”

“Right.”

“And make sure he doesn’t hurt himself if he’s having nightmares.”

“Sheriff, it’s okay. I’ve got it.” Scott put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

The sheriff nodded wearily and left.

“Scott?”

Scott turned around. Stiles was at the top of the stairs, staring down at him in confusion.

“Hey, Stiles. Sorry, did I wake you up? Your dad said you were asleep.”

“No, it’s fine,” Stiles said distractedly, “Did he just leave?”

“Yeah. He didn’t want to wake you.”

Stiles smiled. It was a weird, strained smile, but a smile nonetheless, so Scott figured that was progress at least. “No, it’s good. He shouldn’t sit around the house all day.”  
Scott nodded, unsure what to say next. Stiles watched him silently. He was leaning against the wall looking pale and haggard. The dark circles under his eyes were lighter than they had been three days ago, though still very prominent. His hair was sticking up not from gel and combing as much as from being messy. And he was thinner than could be healthy. Basically, he still looked terrible, but at least he was standing mostly on his own and there even seemed to be some color in his cheeks.

“You want something to eat?” Scott asked him, “Your dad said there were sandwiches and bacon. Or we could order take-out.”

“No, I’m not hungry. Ugh, did Dad give you the ‘make sure he eats’ lecture? He stole that from me, you know. Mine was more ‘make sure he doesn’t eat red meat or greasy fast food’ but still.”

“Well, do you mind if I eat?” Scott asked, and it felt strange to be asking because this was Stiles’ house, and he had always been allowed to eat whatever he wanted here.

“Course not, buddy. What’s mine is yours.” Stiles finally came down the stairs. Scott led the way into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Woah.” Inside were about fifty sandwiches of different types. Stiles peered over his shoulder.

“Oh. Yeah, I kind of freaked out the other day and made a lot of sandwiches. The ones on the far left are ham and cheese. Middle are chicken and right are bologna.” Stiles sat down at the table as if standing for that long was too much of an effort for him. Scott took a chicken sandwich and sat down opposite him.

“Dude, this is delicious,” Scott said thickly.

Stiles grimaced. “Scott, stop trying to make me eat freak-out sandwiches.”

Scott frowned through a mouthful of chicken and lettuce. He swallowed. “Would you eat bacon if I made it?”

Stiles almost laughed at that. “Scott, offering to cook for me is the least likely way to get me to eat.” Scott had to admit he had a point.

“Okay. Then will you go back to sleep?”

Stiles frowned. “I’m fine, Scott. Stop worrying about me.” Scott looked at him incredulously.

“Stiles, you’re not seriously expecting me to believe you’re fine.” Stiles shrugged. “Dude, you still look like Hell, you’re clearly exhausted, and I can tell you’re feeling guilty. It’s okay to not be fine yet. We’re here to help.”

“I don’t….” Stiles fidgeted in his seat, and it was such a Stiles-like movement that Scott just wanted to reach over and hug him. “I don’t feel guilty,” Stiles said. And Scott wasn’t entirely sure why Stiles was trying to lie to him about this.

“You’re lying. Dude, I’m eating one of your guilt sandwiches right now. And you shouldn’t feel guilty, but I can tell you do.”

Stiles grimaced. “Is this that smelling emotions thing? Because I gotta say, it’s creepier when you’re doing it to me.”

“I could tell anyway, Stiles. You’re my best friend. Of course I can tell.”

Stiles shrugged. “Okay, Dr. McCall. Let’s say I am feeling guilty. So what? It doesn’t matter how many times you tell me it wasn’t me. It doesn’t matter how many times you or Lydia or Dad says it. It doesn’t actually help.”

Scott stared sadly at his friend. Stiles refused to look back. “Stiles, it’s not your fault. None of this was your fault.” Stiles snorted disbelievingly. His eyes were glistening. “No, listen to me. You didn’t want any of this to happen. You were controlled and manipulated, and it wasn’t your fault.” Stiles looked down at the table.

“I could have stopped him. If I hadn’t let him in…”

“Then from what you told me, Malia would be dead.”

“I should’ve-” Stiles broke off abruptly. “No. No, I’m not even having this conversation. I’m sorry. I should probably go get some sleep.”

“Stiles!”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

Stiles stood up and walked away toward the stairs.

“It’s morning.”

“Whatever.”

Scott groaned and let his head fall onto the table. Why did Stiles have to make these things so difficult?

***

_“They’ll fool everyone.”_

Stiles woke up screaming again. He felt warm, familiar arms circle around him. Scott. He relaxed slightly before sitting bolt upright again and struggling to remove himself from Scott’s grip.

“Stiles, it’s okay.”

“No, Scott, no.” Stiles scrambled out of reach.

“Stiles, stop. Just let me-”

“No.” Stiles shook his head, staring at Scott’s hands. The black veins had faded when Stiles broke contact, but they had been so dark.

“Stiles, I can help. Please let me help.” Scott looked up at him with his big puppy-dog eyes, concern emanating from every fiber of his being. Stiles hated it, hated that Scott was so willing to take his pain for himself when he shouldn’t even have been able to look at Stiles, let alone touch him.

“Stiles, you don’t deserve this,” Scott said with poorly concealed frustration.

“Neither do you.”

“I can handle it.”

“So can I,” Stiles retorted stubbornly. “Just because I hurt doesn’t mean you should take that for yourself.”

“But I can help!”

“Scott, it doesn’t help me to watch you take my pain, okay?” Stiles said, “It just sucks. I hurt, and it sucks, and I’ll deal with it myself. I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Scott prompted him, ignoring Stiles’ obvious wish to let the topic drop.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, okay? I just want to not hurt people anymore.”

Scott looked at him sadly and silently.

“So, just leave it, okay?”

Scott nodded reluctantly.

“Great. So…TV? Mario kart?”

“I’ll watch TV with you if you eat one of those sandwiches,” Scott said.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine, but if I end up puking my guts out on the sofa, you’re cleaning it up, not me.”

Scott’s frown deepened. “Is that likely? I mean, have you been throwing up a lot?”

Stiles shrugged. “Been nauseous.”

They made their way downstairs, got Stiles a sandwich, and then settled down onto the sofa. Stiles turned on the TV.

“…live from Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, still reeling from the massacre of just a few days ago in which no fewer than forty-two staff and patients were killed. No arrests have been made, but a statement issued yesterday by the Beacon Hills Police Department suggests that a Japanese mafia-”

Scott succeeded in yanking the remote out of Stiles’ hands and turning the TV off. Stiles moved as if to stand, but fell on all fours in front of the couch instead and threw up half of a chicken sandwich and a lot of bile. He wiped his mouth hastily on the sleeve of the old t-shirt he was wearing, and then lurched backward to lean against the couch, shaking. It took him a moment to register Scott’s hand on his shoulder, though when he did, he realized it had been there the whole time. Distantly, he could tell that he was crying. It didn’t seem important. Forty-two dead. Another at the Sheriff station. Three more from the bomb. Another from the electrical wire he had cut. Aiden. Allison. So many dead, even more hurt. He’d killed about fifty people. He didn’t even know who most of them were.

“Stiles.”

Scott was trying to comfort him. Why? Scott was supposed to be grieving, not dealing with Stiles.

“Stiles, come on, snap out of it.”

Oh. He was hyperventilating. That was bad, wasn’t it. He wasn’t supposed to do that. He forced himself to focus. Scott’s concerned face came into view in front of him. Damn that concerned face.

“Breath with me, Stiles. It’s okay.”

Slowly, Stiles’ breathing returned to normal. He was still shaking, but at least he wasn’t in danger of passing out from under oxygenation.

“Stiles, this isn’t your fault, okay?” Scott said, “No, look at me.” Stiles looked up. “You didn’t do any of that. It’s not your fault.”

“I…I let him in, Scott. And-”

“You didn’t have a choice, Stiles.”

Scott hated this. He hated that he was crouched in front of his best friend, trying to convince him again that everything would be okay. He hated that Stiles was hurting and guilt-ridden about things that weren’t his fault, hated that Stiles couldn’t see how amazing he had been.

“Stiles, I know you remember it, and I know that hurts, but you have people here who need you. Even people who have gone through kind of similar things. Remember when I first got bit and I couldn’t control myself? I tried to kill you. And Lydia was manipulated by Peter. I know it’s not the same, but we can relate a little. So trust me. Please. It’s not your fault.”

Stiles stared up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Scott…” he began hesitantly. Then he stopped, dropping his gaze again.

“What?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing.”

Scott sighed. “Stiles, please just tell me? I just want to help.”

Stiles groaned. “Scott, don’t you get it? I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t have to, and you should be able to deal with your own stuff before you have to deal with me.”

Scott’s mouth hung open slightly and his eyes glistened with tears. “Stiles, I can’t deal with my stuff without you. You’re my stuff, okay? It’s not hurting me to take care of you. It’s hurting me that you won’t let me.”

Stiles looked at him, confused. “Scott, that doesn’t make any sense. I almost killed you. I killed…people. You shouldn’t be able to even be around me.”

“Stiles, that wasn’t you. It was the nogitsune,” Scott insisted.

Stiles looked away again. “Yeah. I know. And I couldn’t have done anything, and it wasn’t my fault. Blah, blah, blah. I know. But I remember it. And I could have done something. I could have done anything differently, and maybe no one would have died.” Stiles stood up. “I’m gonna clean this up and go back to sleep I think.” He gestured at the puke-stained carpet. Scott nodded and got up to help.

***

Stiles continued to deliberately avoid any topic relating to…recent events…after he woke up again. Scott tried to subtly approach the subject a few times, but Stiles was having none of that.

Which sucked, because there was another reason Scott was there and it was a) unpleasant and b) related to recent events.

“So…um.”

“If you’re about to tell me not to feel guilty again, stop right there,” Stiles interrupted.

Scott fidgeted nervously. “No. I mean, yeah. But I was gonna say something else.”

Stiles looked at him expectantly.

“Um…I don’t know if anyone’s already told you…” That was a lie. He knew no one had. “The uh, service…for Allison. Is tomorrow. Um. I get if you don’t want to come, but you should. You know, if you can.”

Stiles went very still. “Oh. Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and weighted.

“I’ll ask Dad about it,” Stiles said finally, “If he thinks I’m too…whatever I am to go.”

Scott nodded, relieved that Stiles seemed to be giving it serious thought and also hadn’t gone into a complete melt-down. Not that he would have blamed him, of course. But it was hard to watch when his best friend shattered in front of him.

Stiles stood in the living room in his black suit, staring straight ahead at nothing while his dad fixed his tie. He was exhausted and trying not to show it. Though maybe he should. Then his dad would force him to stay home. No. He was doing this. Paying respects to Allison. Supporting Scott and Lydia. Though really how supportive his presence would be seeing as he was the one who killed her….

“Are you sure about this, son?” his dad asked, “You can stay home if you need to.”

With considerable effort, Stiles focused in on his dad’s face. “I’m sure. I’ll be okay.”

His dad sighed, nodded, and led the way out to the car.

The funeral was…well. It was a funeral. Stiles stood and sat at the appropriate times and watched as members of Allison’s extended family spoke about her. He couldn’t listen really. He caught snippets of speeches: “talented”, “loving”, “beautiful”, “so kind”. He hated them. He hated how none of them were about how brave she had been, how she had sacrificed everything for her friends. He wanted to stand up and scream about how she was the best of all of them. How it was his fault. How it should have been him because she was better. She was stronger. But he sat quietly and cried and watched with the rest.

After the funeral, there was a line to give condolences to Allison’s father. Stiles saw Melissa and his dad get up and go over to him, but Stiles didn’t move. How was he supposed to face him? After everything he’d been through already, Stiles had taken Allison from him. Some would probably say no, it was a thing wearing Stiles’ face. But really, that wouldn’t make any difference to how much it would suck for Chris to see Stiles right now. So Stiles waited in his seat for his dad to return.

Lydia came over and sat down next to him. He greeted her with a weak half-smile which she returned. Her eyes were puffy and red, and there were tear-tracks on her cheeks.

“I’m…it’s good you’re here,” she said after a little while. Stiles nodded, not necessarily agreeing, but too tired to argue the point. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Stiles knew he should probably say something to comfort her, but for once, he had no words. So instead he just continued sitting there.

“You could go and talk to him if you wanted to, you know,” Lydia said after a little while.

Stiles blinked. “What? Who?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and lifted her head up to look at him. “Mr. Argent. It’s obvious you have something to say to him. So go say it.” Stiles shook his head. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t need to talk to me today. I can wait.”

Lydia pursed her lips, but otherwise let the subject drop.

Stiles let his eyes wander around the cemetery. He saw a few people from school, including Danny. There were some people he recognized from Kate’s funeral. Isaac and Scott were standing off to the side not talking to each other.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Lydia asked.

Stiles looked at her and opened his mouth to say ‘yeah.’ It didn’t come out. He closed his mouth again and leaned his head against her shoulder. She seemed to take that for an answer. She reached up to stroke his hair comfortingly. He sniffled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured through tears of her own. “It’s okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Awkwardness, Slow Recovery, Camping in Mexico, and New Betas

Stiles spent the days after Allison’s funeral mostly in bed. Scott, Lydia, and Melissa all stopped by almost every day. Lydia brought him schoolwork. Scott brought food and movies. Overall, it could have been worse.

Three days after the funeral, Stiles was enjoying one of his rare moments alone (he had no doubt that there were at least two werewolves somewhere in the vicinity, but they weren’t in the house) when the doorbell rang. It was Kira and four large shopping bags.

“Um,” Stiles said when he opened the door.

“Hi,” Kira said with some forced cheerfulness. “I brought you…stuff. Probably more stuff than you need, and most of it is probably useless, but I kind of…panicked,” she finished, the smile slowly slipping off her face as she talked. “Can I come in?”

Stiles glanced at the driveway. There were no extra cars. “How did you get here?” he asked.

“I hitched a ride with Derek,” she said, hauling her bags over the threshold as Stiles stepped aside. “He was taking over for Scott…so…um…I…shouldn’t have said that.” She dropped the bags on the dining room table and turned around guiltily to face Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I knew it. How many werewolves are surrounding my house right now?”

“One,” Kira said in a high-pitched voice.

“How many hunters, banshees, humans with guns, and whatever else we associate with these days?”

“Also one,” Kira admitted, “And there’s me, though I’m not technically surrounding your house. I’m just…here.”

Stiles dragged his hand down his face. “I don’t need a baby-sitter or three,” he said.

“Nobody thinks you do,” Kira said too quickly, “I mean, obviously they think you do, but not in a bad way. They just want to look out for you.”

“Right.” Stiles sighed. “Anyway, what’s in the bags?”

Kira blushed slightly and turned back to the table. “Here we have chocolate, other candy, and some chips,” she said, upending the first bag, “Some bread, crackers, cheese, peanut butter, and apples.” She took them out of the second bag. “Ice cream, hot chocolate mix, chapstick, and…an egg separator. Like I said, I panicked. And here we have a deck of cards, a wind-up wolf toy which I actually did put some thought into and mostly bought to see Derek’s face, a bar of soap, some pencils, three notebooks, and a hat.”

Stiles looked at the table, now strewn with Kira’s shopping. “Um…thanks.” He picked up the hat. It was green and a little itchy-looking. And it had ear-flaps.

“Derek stopped me when I tried to buy Disney princess stickers. In retrospect I probably should have stopped at the soap.”

Stiles laughed. Kira looked immensely relieved. “Thanks,” he said, still smiling. “We should probably put the ice cream away before it melts.” Together they had the groceries unpacked in ten minutes. The hot chocolate mix was left out, and the candy was hidden in Stiles’ room so his dad wouldn’t eat it. Stiles didn’t ask why Kira had felt the need to bring him so much stuff. Her mom had tried to kill him. Stiles would probably do about the same thing.

“Do you want to stick around and watch a movie or something?” Stiles asked. “We could make some hot chocolate.”

Kira nodded enthusiastically. “It’s either that or wait in the car with Derek, to be honest, so…”

Stiles smiled again. “Movie it is.”

Some time later, they were halfway through How to Train Your Dragon and laughing at Stiles’ analogy to training Scott when Stiles stopped talking. His hands were shaking, and he looked pale and more exhausted than he had looked already.

“Stiles?” Kira asked, working hard to keep the fear out of her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I’m okay. Just…after-effects of being possessed by a homicidal fox spirit.”

“What should I do?”

“Pass me my hot chocolate,” Stiles said, gesturing.

“Here.”

Stiles took the hot cup in his shaking hands and sipped. It was nearly scalding, but he kept going anyway. When it was half empty, he set it down. He breathed deeply and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Kira repeated.

“I’m just cold,” he said, “It’s been happening. It’s not always this bad. I just…get colder than usual sometimes.”

“Have you told Scott about this? Stiles, this could be a serious problem.”

“Yes Scott knows about it. It’s not a big deal,” Stiles said unconvincingly, “It’s been happening since I first split from the nogitsune. And it’s getting better.”

“This is better?” Kira said doubtfully.

“Yes, actually.”

Kira frowned at him for a moment. Then she smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” She ran off, and Stiles sat there, slowly warming up from hot chocolate and occasional shivers. Kira ran back into the room holding the hat.

“No.”

“Yes,” she said, grinning wickedly. She lunged for Stiles’ head, hat outstretched. Stiles yelped and tried to dodge, but Kira was faster. She pulled the hat down over his eyes. “Perfect.”

Stiles grumbled, but made no move to remove it. It was warm and not as itchy as it looked. “Thanks.”

***

Stiles took the news that Isaac was leaving with Chris Argent fairly well, at least at first. When Scott told him, he simply nodded and asked for how long. They weren’t sure. Isaac seemed reluctant to commit to coming back at all, and Mr. Argent didn’t know either. Stiles nodded again, and they went back to what they were doing.

That night, Stiles sat on his bed with the covers pulled up over his head and tried not to scream his guilt into the night for his father and whoever was guarding the house to hear.

Stiles saw Isaac briefly before he left. They didn’t say much to each other. Scott did most of the talking. Stiles and Isaac had never really gotten along. They shook hands, and Isaac left.

He didn’t see Mr. Argent at all, hadn’t since the funeral. Stiles was mostly okay with that. There were things he had wanted to say, mostly along the lines of ‘sorry,’ but maybe they were better left unsaid after all.

***

A few days after that, Stiles was preparing to return to school. Melissa had advised him to be cautious, but Stiles was pretty sure if he stayed cooped up in the house much longer he would go crazy again. He had a lot of work to do to make up for the time he’d missed, but Lydia had been helping whenever she could. She was supposed to visit him that day in fact. Stiles was sitting in his room, contemplating his newly empty walls when she arrived. He went to let her in.

“Did you make any progress on that math?” she asked as she led the way upstairs.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, for once not lying. He had been really bored yesterday.

Lydia smiled slightly. “Good. We can work on Economics then.”

Stiles groaned.

An hour or so later, Stiles was sprawled on the floor while Lydia lounged on the bed, reading some large, way too advanced for high school text book. Stiles didn’t want to ask. He was mostly focused on hating Finstock. “Lydia,” he whined, “None of this makes sense.”

Lydia sighed. “What?”

“This.” He attempted to shove the book at her, but dropped it. It fell to the floor with a heavy thunk. He froze. “I…”

_You’ll talk. They always talk._

“Stiles?”

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Of course you didn’t. Stiles, what’s wrong?”

He shrugged shakily. His breathing was uneven and shallow.

“Okay, breathe. Breathe with me, Stiles,” Lydia said calmly.

He shook his head. “Stay away.”

Lydia stared. “No.” She slid off the bed so she was kneeling in front of him. “Breathe with me.” Stiles looked up at her. His breathing began to even out, but tears started welling up in his eyes. Lydia suddenly found herself with an armful of crying Stiles. She froze for a moment, unsure what to do about this. Then she started rubbing small, comforting circles on his back. That was what her mother did. She figured it couldn’t hurt. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Stiles.”

“It’s not okay,” Stiles whisper-sobbed, “I hurt you and Scott and my dad and Isaac and all those people at the hospital.” He drew a shuddering breath. “The people at the station, Kira, Kira’s father, Kira’s mother, Ethan, Aiden. Allison.” He pressed his face into her shoulder. “I killed Allison. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Lydia felt tears of her own start falling. “No. No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t do that, Stiles. It wasn’t you.”

“I should have died too,” he said so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. Lydia pulled back abruptly.

“No. Don’t you ever dare say that,” she said angrily, “What good would that have done anyone?”

Stiles looked up at her with empty eyes. “It should have been me instead then. I shouldn’t be alive now. It should have been me.”

Lydia glared. “Death doesn’t happen to you, Stiles. It happens to everyone around you. You think we wouldn’t be just as devastated if it had been you? You think Allison would have wanted that?”

“It would be better than her being dead,” Stiles said stubbornly.

“Stop thinking like that. We’re all glad you’re alive,” Lydia said gently. Stiles looked skeptical, but he was too tired to argue the point. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to school? If you’re going to have a panic attack every time you drop a book…”

“I can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Lydia pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. “Do you know what happened just now?” she asked. He shook his head but refused to meet her eyes. She glared at him suspiciously for a moment, but he didn’t say anything further. She picked up the book he had dropped. “Well, I think we’re done with homework for the day.” Stiles nodded.

***

Two days later, Scott called Stiles and said Malia was back in school and wanted help controlling her powers. Stiles offered to tag along since he was the one who’d had the most interaction with Malia. She was adjusting okay for the most part, but though he didn’t say it outright, Scott was definitely hoping that Stiles could help. Stiles was perfectly willing. He and Malia had a bond. It wasn’t exactly deep and complex, but it was there nonetheless.

And as far as he was concerned, she was the only person he had done something good for in months.

They got along well. Malia learned quickly when it came to being a coyote, but less so when it came to being a human. Stiles gave her a run-down of the basics, and she seemed to be picking up on some of the subtler social rules as well. Slow progress, but progress all the same. She also seemed to have decided that she and Stiles were dating. Stiles didn’t mind. Malia was beautiful, funny, strong, and despite layers upon layers of issues, he was pretty sure she was also a good person.

***

Stiles’ first day back at school was largely defined by whispers and strange looks as he walked down the hallways. He avoided eye contact with most people, keeping close to Scott, Lydia, Kira, and Malia. Coach Finstock actually seemed glad he was back, which was convenient because Stiles still hadn’t finished all of his homework. Stiles got through the day and went home to his dad and food that he could actually eat now. He felt better.

***

Then Derek disappeared and the only lead they had was in Mexico, so they convinced their parents that they were going camping and instead went on a rescue mission. Stiles didn’t like to think about how easy and even pleasurable it was to trick his dad.

Stiles could tell something was off in his banter with Lydia. Some of her comments about not wanting to die hit just a little too close to home. He was sure she still remembered their not-totally-resolved argument from before.

The Calaveras came so close to killing Scott. And Stiles felt faintly like he was close to killing them. But that was ridiculous, he told himself. It wasn’t like he could actually take on the hunters. They broke free. Scott was okay, and Lydia and Kira. But Kate was back and that was a whole new problem to deal with like they didn’t have enough.

Still, Stiles didn’t mention that he felt almost void again while negotiating. Didn’t mention because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. He had been getting back to reality slowly for over a month. It wasn’t real.

He worked on his jeep and waited for Scott to come back and ignored how cold it was. Then he waited for Malia to come back and tried to ignore the fear Lydia was clearly trying unsuccessfully to hide. Not to mention his own fear. Oddly, he wasn’t really scared for himself. He was scared for Scott and Malia and Kira and Derek and Lydia, but some part of him felt remarkably calm about the fact that he was in the middle of the desert with no way to defend himself and something sinister in the shadows. He just felt irritated.

He snapped at Lydia, annoyed for some reason that she was so afraid. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

 

Derek was a sixteen-year-old boy who still trusted Kate, and none of them had any idea how to deal with him. So they left him with Stiles, which really didn’t make any sense because since when did leaving things with Stiles get anything good accomplished? Sure enough, Derek ran off with Kate.

 

Stiles felt positively gleeful. Peter had been robbed. It was ironic justice cleverly carried out, just the sort of thing he appreciated.

Just the sort of thing _he_ appreciated? _Well_ , he thought, _yes_.

He pushed that thought away and followed Lydia out of the vault.

 

Things seemed to calm down for a little while after that. Lacrosse practices were starting up again soon. Malia started crawling in Stiles’ bedroom window every night. Stiles didn’t mind, and whenever either of them had nightmares, the other was a comforting presence. The fact that he was the little spoon was a bit irksome, but he figured it wasn’t that big a deal.

***

Stiles sat on his bed with his head in his hands, breathing deeply. Nightmares again, and this time there was no one to hear him screaming himself awake. It was mid afternoon and he had accidentally fallen asleep while he was supposed to be doing homework. He lowered his hands and stared at them. He counted. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He was definitely awake. He ran his hand through the tangles of his hair.

It had been a different dream than usual. These days, he dreamed a lot of closed spaces, the white room, friends dying, and the nogitsune taunting him. This dream had gone back further, to Lydia lying bleeding on the lacrosse field and Peter dragging him away. Offering him the bite. Stiles brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He couldn’t think about that. If he thought about that too much…. He groaned frustratedly. This was not going to end well.

 

The next day though, he was distracted by Liam. Liam coming in and stealing Scott’s place. Stiles didn’t like him, didn’t like his attitude or his face or his apparently endless strength and endurance. He didn’t like the strain his presence was putting on Scott. So yes, he was maybe a little aggressive when questioning him to find out if he was a werewolf. Then, naturally, Scott went and turned him into one.

Stiles was pretty sure Scott was worse than Derek at the whole “the bite is a gift” shtick. Liam wasn’t buying it. So Stiles figured some research was in order and oh, great, the kid had anger issues. He told Scott, and they all made a plan. It was a pretty terrible plan, but better than some of their previous ones Stiles thought.

That is, it was better until Liam invited the entire school to a lake house full of monsters. Stiles stayed in the basement with Malia. Out-of-control werecoyote sounded preferable to crowds of drunk teenagers. Plus, Lydia probably had it under control. Speaking of control….

Stiles turned back to Malia. Her eyes were glowing blue as she tugged at the chains and told him to leave. He shook his head. “I’m not gonna run. Because I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me,” he said, approaching slowly. He was confident that she wouldn’t hurt him, but not so confident he wouldn’t be careful. “And I think that maybe you’re so afraid of hurting me,” he continued, “Because of what you did to your family.” That seemed to have an effect. She paused and turned to look at him. “I know what that’s like. I remember everything I did.” He didn’t know what exactly was making him say these things, things he hadn’t talked about in weeks for the sake of keeping up the appearance of being okay. “And the worst part is I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless, and most of all in control.” He hadn’t told that to anyone, not even Scott. But it was working. He had to keep talking. “But when I came through it, I learned something else. Control is overrated.”

Malia stopped struggling. Stiles released her chains. For a moment, he thought they were safe. Then she lunged at him. He backed away hastily, but she stopped. Her claws turned back into nails. Her face regained its usual shape. He smiled slightly. “You did it.”

She smiled back at him and pulled him into a hug. He grimaced over her shoulder as he held her. He hadn’t meant to ever divulge that much. But it had helped. He had helped someone for once.

He noted, not for better or for worse, that it had been Malia again. The one person he had helped in all this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Comments are life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything gets more intense and starts falling apart even more. Yay!

Ignoring the fact that there was a Dead Pool with most of their names on it, assassins coming after them, a new beta werewolf with anger issues, and the lingering worry of what Kate was up to, the next day was fairly routine. Stiles freaked out Coach and figured stuff out. Like how a lacrosse player was an assassin. Derek creeped in the boys’ locker room. Routine. Then of course, there was the game. There were more assassins. Liam almost died, Brett almost died, Scott almost died, etc. Not as routine and still nerve-wracking, but Stiles was getting better at dealing with crises of this nature.

***

Stiles watched Peter carefully at Deaton’s. He noted also that Peter seemed to be watching him. He couldn’t question it though. He had other problems to deal with.

***

Brunski was officially a dick. He had been before, but the notion was reinforced now, and Parrish and Lydia both agreed. Stiles had seen Lydia flip him off. He appreciated it.

He did not appreciate Meredith refusing to tell them anything and then making Lydia’s ears bleed.

The third part of the Dead Pool was de-coded by the word DEREK. Stiles didn’t have time to process that information before Lydia was calling Parrish.

“Lydia, Meredith’s gone.”

Lydia turned slowly, and Stiles wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. She buried her face in his shoulder.

Once he had gotten Lydia home safe and sound, Stiles drove to Scott’s to see what he was freaking out about.

Money. Lots and lots of money. Double-stolen money that was going to be used to pay assassins, but money nonetheless. Stiles stared. In his mind’s eye he saw hospital bills, electricity bills, Lydia’s credit cards, mortgage payments. And on the other hand he saw Peter, homicidal maniac extraordinaire. Then he looked up at Scott’s face and saw guilt and conflict. Right. Scott had morals. Stealing was bad.

They argued for a little while, but before they could actually agree on what to do, they were interrupted by Malia and the news that Satomi’s pack was dead.

***

The next day was an abrupt return to normalcy with PSATs and squabbling with Malia over grammar. Stiles was a terrible test taker, always had been. He had hoped that studying with Lydia would help, but looking down at his answer sheet, he doubted it would be enough.

Fwump.

Stiles and the rest of the classroom turned around as the girl – Sydney – fell to the floor. Ms. Martin hurried to her side. Stiles saw, clear as everyone else, the strange rash on her arm. The test continued, but Stiles was even less focused than he had been before. Then they heard shouting in the hallway. Stiles and Scott raced out the door. Nothing looked wrong, but Ms. Martin was clearly scared. She sent them back to their seats.

Then CDC people were marching through the school setting up makeshift quarantine units. Stiles stared as they walked by, feeling sick just at the sight of them.

While Scott did his rounds as the comforting puppy he was, Stiles sat with Kira and Malia and waited for something to happen. The proctor was creepy as hell, and apparently they were cut off from the outside world, including his father. Stiles was worried, as he always was when his father was working and Stiles couldn’t contact him, but so far everything seemed pretty normal by Beacon Hills standards. He would worry to himself, but there was no need to get Malia and Kira scared.

Mr. Yukimura took Stiles, Kira, and Malia away from the crowd and led them to the boys’ locker room. Scott was on the ground, eyes glowing red.

After a few minutes of careful coaching there was no effect, and Malia’s claws were out too. That, combined with Kira’s loss of control over electricity, and Stiles was certain that it was not a natural disease. Not that he’d had much hope otherwise to begin with. He sighed. “We need to get you guys out of sight. Quarantine you…from the quarantine.” He registered vaguely how hoarse his voice was, but there were more pressing matters to deal with. A place to hide, somewhere secure. “The vault.” Scott looked up at him. “The Hale vault.”

“The Hales always have an escape route,” Scott said, “Like their house. There has to be another way in.”

Stiles nodded and they marched off to get blueprints and find the other entrance.

“It’s probably in this corridor.” The words had barely left his mouth before the world suddenly seemed to lurch sideways and he fell into Mr. Yukimura. He straightened up as quickly as he could. “Oh.” He looked at his wrist with blurred but clearing vision. The rash had started to appear there.

“It’s happening to you too. You’re getting sick,” Mr. Yukimura said, as if Stiles hadn’t figured that out. “You all are.” He looked at his daughter.

“I don’t feel sick,” Kira said.

“I think it’s affecting you differently. Neurologically.” He showed them Kira’s answer sheet. Not a single bubble was filled in, but there were neat gray ovals in the margins.

So they all hurried down to the basement and started searching for the entrance. Stiles saw it first. The triskelion carved into the wall, hardly hidden behind some shelves. He called them over, and he and Scott pushed the shelves out of the way, and they managed to persuade Malia to open the door.

And then it was the waiting game. Waiting with Malia drowsing in his lap. Talking about money problems with Scott and Kira. Some part of him was furious with Scott for insisting on returning the money. But he was also glad that his friend was still good enough to do so.

A while later, he and Scott stood by the door while Scott listened for sounds from upstairs.

“Anything?” Stiles asked.

“They’re looking for us,” Scott said, “Someone’s gonna have to go up there.” Stiles nodded and glanced back at Malia and Kira. “We need to tell her the truth about Peter,” Scott said out of nowhere, and Stiles was once again annoyed by Scott’s impractical moral integrity. “She’s gonna see the rest of the Dead Pool eventually.”

Stiles frowned. “Try to remember that Peter is the one name missing from that list, which makes him either lucky or the benefactor. You really want to tell her Scott? She finds out, she’ll go to him. And he’ll twist his way into her head like he does with everyone, including us!” He closed his mouth abruptly at the look on Scott’s face, surprised by the anger in his own voice. He took another breath. “We let him walk away like he’s one of the good guys. Scott, he’s not one of the good guys. She finds out, she’s gone. He’s probably waiting already, and then he wins, we lose.” Stiles fought back a surge of fear at those words. His head was pounding, and his hands were shaking, and he felt angrier than was probably warranted.

Scott looked at him seriously. “We’re already losing.” He held up a hand oozing black goo.

“Okay, but now is not the time, Scott,” Stiles said urgently, “We need to deal with this first. Then we’ll see about Malia’s parentage.”

Scott nodded wearily. “You need to go up there. You’re the least suspicious-looking of us.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Find out what’s happening. Try to contact someone.”

Stiles nodded and went to tell Malia he was leaving. Despite the shivers running up and down his spine almost constantly, he wrapped his jacket around her. With a last nod to Scott and Kira and a last look back at Malia, he let the door to the vault slide shut behind him.

He found Ms. Martin and asked where Mr. Yukimura was, ignoring her suggestions for him to rest or lie down or whatever. Suggestions like that were useless and irritating. He paused outside one of the quarantine tents.

“Is Coach the only adult who got sick today?” he asked.

“As far as I know.”

“Why is he the only one?” Stiles muttered under his breath. None of it made sense. The assassin had gotten everyone sick, but why Coach? He walked away from Ms. Martin, agreeing absent-mindedly to whatever she was saying.

Coach’s office was deserted, so Stiles set about ransacking it, searching for something, anything that would give him an idea what happened. Then he saw it, the mug and the ink, the same ink used for the thumb prints. It all clicked. The proctor was the assassin.

“I was wondering how that idiot got sick.” Stiles sprang to his feet, dropping the mug. The assassin stood in the doorway, smirking slightly and holding a gun. “I’m also wondering where your friends are. Since in order to get paid by the benefactor, I need to prove they’re dead.” He fiddled with the gun.

“Visual confirmation,” Stiles said. He hated the way his voice cracked and his whole body was trembling. He was angry, not scared. Why did he sound scared?

The gun rose to point directly at his heart. “Exactly.” He indicated for Stiles to move, and Stiles did. Panic was rising in his chest, but he squashed it down. Panic was useless. “You still look feverish, Mr. Stilinski. You should know something. The virus doesn’t kill humans. You’ll get better.” He said this as if it was supposed to comfort Stiles. “So don’t you think you should tell me where they are? Shouldn’t one of you get to live?”

Stiles nodded slightly. He had expected nothing less. The man was playing a clever game, and it seemed like everyone was going to lose. Somehow, though, Stiles felt calm settling in over the anger and panic. “I think I saw them in the library. Might’ve been the cafeteria. It was definitely one of those two.”

“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to kill you.”

It was as if Stiles had been waiting to hear those words. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and he was acutely aware of every beat of his heart, every twitch of his muscles. He could hear the assassin breathing, hear his pulse. He could smell the excitement and his own sweat. He could hear the others waking up, the cops and the CDC workers outside. And above all of that, he felt the darkness coiled around his heart like a physical presence, and the heavy weight of some power settled in the pit of his stomach. And he understood with perfect clarity in that moment, that the assassin behind him with his gun and his chemicals could do nothing to him.

He turned around, feeling that strange familiar power rising inside him. “You think you can scare me?”

The assassin seemed not to notice. “No, I think I can kill you. I just thought the countdown would make it more exciting. So.” He put the gun to Stiles’ head and there were a thousand ways out of this situation, but suddenly Stiles’ mind was clouding. He couldn’t think properly. Time resumed its usual pace and he could only hear the assassin’s voice and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. “One.” Stiles was still and calm. It didn’t matter if it helped his friends and stopped this man. “Two.” Stiles closed his eyes and saw his dad’s grief-stricken face.

BANG.

Stiles flinched as something hit his face, but it wasn’t a bullet. He opened his eyes in time to see the assassin hit the ground with a hole in his head. He gasped and spat blood out of his mouth, staring at the figure in the hazmat suit as they removed the hood to reveal Mr. McCall.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

“Stiles, listen,” McCall said quickly, “I got a call from Melissa. I don’t know what it means. She said there’s an antidote. It’s in the vault, reishi mushrooms.”

“Wait, what in the vault?” Stiles couldn’t keep up. His mind was racing and foggy all at once and some part of him was freaking out that there was _someone else’s blood on his face._

“It’s in a jar on one of the shelves. She said to tell Scott, it’s in the vault.”

Stiles nodded, still breathing hard, still sweating and shaking, and then he was off again. There was something wrong with him, more wrong than just a fever. A quick glance at his wrist showed the rash was gone, but his vision was blurring more than ever. He stumbled and staggered through hallways and down stairs until he reached the door to the vault, still closed.

“SCOTT!” he yelled with all the energy he could muster. “Scott! It’s in the vault, ok? It’s in there with you. It’s called reishi mushrooms!” There was no response. He banged on the door. “SCOTT! Open the door. It’s in there with you. It’s in a jar; it’s on one of the shelves!” His voice was fading and his arms grew tired. “SCOTT! Scott, can you hear me?” He slid down the wall. “Scott, it’s in there. Open…open the door.” Stiles struggled to breath. He couldn’t see. Everything around him felt fuzzy and muted, but everything inside was aching as if he had just been thrown up by his own body and grew out of the floor. _Aw, crap._ His head lolled and his eyes slid shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the first part felt a little rushed, but mostly what happened in the show was what happened here, so I didn't really want to go into too much detail about that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations and aftermath

Scott heard Stiles stop yelling and banging, but he couldn’t do anything. His limbs were so heavy. Everything was dark and fuzzy. Then he heard Kira, and his eyes snapped open. With an immense effort, he pulled himself upright and staggered over to the shelf. He reached, grabbed for the jar, and it fell to the floor and shattered. He breathed in the particles that flew into the air and suddenly his vision cleared. He could feel strength slowly returning to his limbs. He stood up straight again and watched as Kira and Malia started stirring. He stumbled over to the door and opened it, still panting but getting better every second. Then he saw Stiles.

“Stiles?” He grabbed his friend by the shoulder and shook him gently. Stiles remained unconscious. “Stiles!” He shook him again, harder this time. Stiles mumbled something, but didn’t wake up. Scott looked down and it felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. The veins in Stiles’ hands were black as if he were drawing pain from an invisible source. Kira and Malia had hurried over when Scott had failed to wake Stiles.

“Scott, what does that mean?” Kira asked fearfully, staring at Stiles’ hands.

“I don’t know,” Scott said honestly. “But we need to get him to the antidote now.” With Malia’s help, he carried Stiles over to where the mushrooms had smashed on the ground. Stiles gasped and his eyes flew open. For one heart-stopping moment, his eyes were silver. Then he blinked and they were their usual golden-brown. “Stiles?”

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” Stiles sat up and stared wildly around at them all.

“You needed the antidote too,” Scott said shakily. Stiles looked even more confused and disoriented.

“But the virus doesn’t kill humans. I would have gotten better.”

Scott looked up at Kira and Malia, hoping one of them would take the responsibility to tell Stiles the terrible truth. For once, Malia stayed silent.

“Stiles…you weren’t getting better. The rash went away, but…your hands. They looked like you were taking someone’s pain.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he stared down at his hands. They had returned to their normal state. “I’m not human then?” he said, sounding smaller and more vulnerable than Scott had heard him sound since they were children. “It’s not gone,” Stiles whispered.

Scott could see, hear, and smell the panic rising in all four of them, Stiles most of all. “Of course it’s gone,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else, “You separated. We trapped it.”

Stiles shook his head, eyes wide and terrified. “It’s still here. I can feel it. I felt it.”

“Stiles, slow down. Breathe.” Scott crouched in front of his friend again, and it felt like he had been doing this far too often lately. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles looked up, guilt and fear written plainly on his face. “It made itself out of me. I remade myself out of it. This isn’t even my original body. I split us apart, but there was never a clear line between us. I’m still nogitsune, Scott. It’s still here, and it’s never going to leave.”

“Stiles, we can figure something out. We always figure something out,” Scott said desperately. 

“No, Scott.” Stiles stood up shakily. “No. I’m stuck with this.” He turned to Kira. “I don’t suppose your mom’s still up for the whole murder me thing?”

“No!” the three of them said at once. Stiles stumbled backward slightly at the force in their voices.

“I don’t care how bad this thing was,” Malia said firmly, “We’re not losing you to get rid of some trace of it.”

“I…”

“You’re not bad, Stiles,” Kira said softly. Stiles looked at her with his wide, desperate eyes, and something in him seemed to crumble even more. He sank to his knees again and stared at the floor unblinkingly.

“She’s right,” Scott said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “This doesn’t make you a monster.”

“Doesn’t it?” Stiles said dully. “If it hadn’t been for the virus, I probably would have killed that assassin.”

“Who was it? When…what happened?” Kira asked uncertainly.

Stiles looked up at them. “The assassin, he was the exam proctor, you know, the really creepy guy? He found me in Coach’s office after I’d just figured out it was him. He threatened to shoot me if I didn’t tell him where you were.” He said all of this much too matter-of-factly for Scott’s liking. “I didn’t tell him, so he started counting. And I felt…” Stiles swallowed. “Sort of…invincible. Like I knew I could get out of it, and I knew I could kill him. I was in control. Then I think the virus kicked in, and everything went all fuzzy again. Scott’s dad shot him in the head before he got to three.” Stiles wiped hastily at his bloody face. Then he lowered his arm and stared at the blood on his sleeve in fascination. “I would have killed him.”

Scott, Kira, and Malia exchanged worried looks. Then Scott shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” Stiles looked up at him like he was questioning Scott’s sanity. “Whatever you felt, we can deal with it,” Scott continued, “And we start by getting out of here and meeting up with the others.”

Stiles still looked unhappy, but he didn’t seem to be capable of protesting, so Scott and Malia hauled him to his feet, and Kira led the way back upstairs. They slipped back into the crowd as best they could, but Stiles wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous figure, what with the being covered in blood and all. Ms. Martin and Lydia saw them first.

“There you are!” Ms. Martin said with a combination of relief and annoyance. “Where did you go? We were in a state of emergency! Why are you covered in _blood_?”

Lydia and Ms. Martin were both staring at Stiles. He didn’t look at either of them. “It’s the assassin’s,” he muttered distractedly, “Where’s my dad?”

“Assassin?” Ms. Martin’s voice was much higher pitched than usual.

“Long story,” Scott said apologetically. “Where’s his dad?”

Lydia pointed behind them. In seconds, Stiles had collapsed against his father.

“Why is my son covered in blood?” the Sheriff asked Scott, a strange mixture of worried and resigned as he held Stiles up.

“The assassin was going to shoot him, but my dad shot the assassin first,” Scott said. He figured it was all he could get away with saying in front of Ms. Martin.

The Sheriff sighed. “Great.”

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled.

“Not your fault, kiddo. We should probably find McCall though.”

“No need.” Agent McCall had suddenly appeared next to Scott. “Are you all alright?” he asked, speaking mostly to Scott.

“We’re fine,” Scott replied. Then he glanced at Stiles, who was gazing blankly into the distance. “Mostly fine.”

“Good. They’re going to need a statement from Stiles,” McCall said uncertainly.

“It can wait,” the Sheriff said firmly, placing a protective hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles blinked and looked down at it. Scott heard his heartbeat spike for just a moment.

“We should get Stiles home,” he said pointedly.

“First I need some kind of explanation,” McCall said, but Scott interrupted him.

“That can wait. Stiles needs to recover.”

“Maybe a hospital?” Ms. Martin suggested.

“No,” Stiles said. His voice was harsh and his tone unsettlingly adamant. “I need to go home. I’ll give my statement tomorrow morning.”

To Scott’s (and everyone else’s) surprise, McCall didn’t object any further. “Sheriff, if Scott and the others stay with Stiles, he should be fine. We need you here.”

The Sheriff looked like he was about to protest, but Stiles talked over him. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He gave his dad what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile and started towards the exit. Scott, Malia, Kira, and Lydia followed him. The adults watched with varying levels of confusion, but Stiles didn’t look back and didn’t stop until he reached his jeep. They all piled in, and Stiles drove silently and almost robotically while the others filled Lydia in on what had happened.

“So, Stiles is still a little bit nogitsune, assassins need visual confirmation, and Scott’s father needs an explanation for why he had to shoot someone. This is fantastic. And on top of that, I just found out that there’s a picture of Meredith at my lake house. And Satomi’s pack has been decimated.” Lydia sighed exasperatedly. “Someone call Derek. And Deaton. Tell them to meet us at Stiles’ place.”

Stiles pulled neatly into his driveway and turned off the car. Before he could so much as unbuckle his seatbelt, however, he slumped against the steering wheel, unconscious again. The girls piled out of the back seat as Scott shook Stiles’ shoulder, trying to wake him up. Stiles didn’t react, and Malia took charge, unbuckling his seatbelt and heaving him up to the front door with Kira’s help. Scott and Lydia followed close behind, and soon enough Stiles was on the couch while the rest of them stood around uncertainly. Scott hated how often he had been doing that lately.

“So…what now?” Kira asked finally.

Scott hesitated. He was at a complete loss. “Wait, I guess? Deaton should be here soon. He’ll probably be able to tell us more. Derek didn’t pick up, but I left him a message.”

Lydia huffed and sat down in an armchair. “Meanwhile, can we discuss the benefactor? Because we’re still being hunted down, and we are no closer to figuring out who’s behind it. The closest thing I’ve got to a lead is that Meredith was at the lake house at some point.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Malia asked.

“Meredith told us the key to decode the second part of the Dead Pool. She’s connected to the benefactor somehow.”

“Which means she’s also connected to you,” Scott said, “Or your grandmother.”

Lydia nodded soberly. Scott put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The doorbell rang, and Scott left to answer it. He returned moments later with Deaton. Deaton took one look at Stiles and sighed as if he had expected no less but was nonetheless disappointed.

He knelt next to the couch and examined Stiles’ hand. “You said he looked like he was taking something’s pain?”

Scott nodded. “And his eyes were silver for a second when he woke up.”

“Well, I’d say Stiles had it about right.” Deaton lifted one of Stiles’ eyelids. “There’s still some nogitsune in him. Not nearly as much nogitsune as Stiles, but enough that he’s no longer quite human.”

“So how do we get it out?” Malia demanded.

“I’m not sure we do,” Deaton admitted calmly, “If what Stiles said is true, he and the nogitsune became too close to ever separate. If we took the fox out, we’d take some of Stiles with it. The good news is, Stiles is still in control. What’s left in him isn’t likely to go on random killing sprees. It’s the part of the nogitsune that was closest to Stiles.”

“So he’ll be okay?”

Deaton shrugged. “He may not be okay, exactly, but he’ll still be himself. Just with a little…extra.”

Scott nodded. “Should we wake him up? I tried shaking him, but he didn’t react at all.”

“It might be best to let him sleep,” Deaton said doubtfully, “He’s been through a lot.”

“But if we’re going to learn anything else, we need him to wake up,” Scott pointed out apologetically. “And we need to come up with a plan. We need to figure out who the benefactor is.”

“Stiles is the one with the investigation wall,” Kira said, “He’d be helpful for that.”

“Okay, I’ll wake him up,” Deaton agreed. He put a hand on Stiles’ forehead. “Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes flew open, blazing silver. His arm swung, and his fist connected solidly with Deaton’s jaw. He leapt up, staring wildly around but apparently not recognizing anything. Scott was closest, and it was him Stiles went for next. Scott grunted and fell to the floor under Stiles’ weight. With a strength Stiles had certainly never had before, he started punching Scott’s face repeatedly. Kira and Malia seized him by the shoulders and attempted to drag him off, but he elbowed Kira hard in the face and sent Malia flying with another punch.

“STILES.”

Stiles blinked and lowered his fist. His eyes were brown again, and his breath came in short gasps. He stared up at Lydia, then looked around at Scott, Malia, Kira, and Deaton. Lydia said his name again. “Stiles?”

He stood up, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him, of Scott’s ragged breathing and Malia’s grunt of pain as she stood up again. “I…I didn’t…” He swallowed. Then his eyes flickered to the door.

“Stiles, no-” Scott started to say, but before he could finish, Stiles had bolted through the kitchen and out the door, into the jeep again and out of the driveway, down the street and disappeared. Malia and Lydia had run after him, but the jeep was too fast. Scott was still struggling to his feet by the time Stiles had started down the road.

“We have to go after him,” Lydia said as Scott, Kira, and Deaton joined her and Malia in the driveway. “Deaton, your car.”

They piled in quickly, Scott riding shotgun and sticking his head out the window to follow Stiles’ scent. Deaton drove quickly, but despite their complaining, he refused to break speed limits.

“As much as we do need to follow him before the scent is lost, we also need to give him space,” he explained in his annoyingly calm voice. Lydia and Malia scowled. “He’s terrified of what he might do to us, and he’s only going to push us away more if we get too close too fast.”

They found his jeep parked by the preserve. The trail was clear enough, and they set out following it.

***

Stiles drove to the edge of the preserve. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that was where he needed to go. He was sure they were following him. He tried not to think too much as he drove.

When he could drive no longer, he got out and walked. He walked until he came to a clearing near where he thought the old Hale property probably started. Then he stopped and sat down on a fallen tree, breathing hard. He counted his fingers. Ten. Not a nightmare then. It had really happened. He stared at his hands. The knuckles were red and slightly sore.

He had taken down Scott, Malia, Kira, and Deaton in seconds. He was dangerous.

Snap.

Stiles’ looked up. Peter was approaching from the opposite side of the clearing. Stiles swore.

“Language,” Peter remarked carelessly. He paused several feet away from where Stiles was sitting. “So.”

“What the hell do you want?” Stiles asked tiredly.

“It’s a public place. I can’t just be passing through?”

“It’s you. So no.”

“As a matter of fact, I wasn’t looking for you, but now that I’ve found you, I think we should probably chat.”

“About what.” Stiles figured he could play along until the others arrived. Shouldn’t be long, he thought.

“About your scent,” Peter said as if that weren’t super creepy, “It’s not quite you anymore, is it?”

Stiles stared. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you smell like fox. More human than fox, sure. But more fox than any human ever smelled like.”

“How long have you known?” Stiles asked, getting to his feet, “How fucking long have you known it’s not gone?”

“I only identified the smell now,” Peter said, brushing aside Stiles’ fury, “But to be honest, I’ve known something was wrong from the start.”

Stiles practically snarled. “You knew. You fucking asshole.”

Peter chose to ignore this. “I can’t help but think things would have gone very differently if I had bitten you,” he mused, “You probably would have made a much better beta than Scott did.”

“Fuck you. You can’t just waltz in and out causing chaos and get away with it.” Stiles stepped forward. “I don’t know why Scott didn’t kill you when he had the chance.”

“What, do you think you’re going to kill me for him?” Peter said mockingly, taking another step forward.

“I could.” Stiles felt the same feeling in him as he had before, but this time it wasn’t just inside him.

“You can’t kill me. You may have some fox in you, but you’re still human, Stiles. You can’t kill me any more than you can protect any of them.”

His fingertips were tingling with power. He knew if he looked that he would see sparks flying between them. He took another step forward, and Peter fell back. The power built, and for a fraction of a second, he saw fear flicker across Peter’s face. Then he heard someone else approaching from behind.

“Stiles!”

It was Lydia. Stiles felt the electricity crackle at his fingertips, ready to explode out of him. Then he felt Lydia’s hand on his arm. He tried to pull away. There was too much power. If he let it go, and she was there…. Then Scott and Malia and Kira were there next to him. He swallowed, trying to push the power back down where it belonged, but still his fingers crackled.

“Lydia, run,” he said darkly. She didn’t move.

“Stiles, you can control this. I know you can.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “No, he can’t. But I’d bet he can’t release it either.”

Stiles blinked, and his vision was suddenly tinted silver. There was a roaring in his ears and a flash of light followed by a crash of thunder. He blinked again and saw Peter lying on the ground. His clothes were partially burnt and his hair was singed and on end. Stiles looked around and saw Lydia.

“LYDIA!”

He dropped to his knees beside her as Scott and the others ran forward too. Lydia was unconscious. She seemed at first glance to be unhurt, but the hand that had been resting on Stiles’ arm was covered in what Stiles recognized as a Lichtenberg figure. It ran up her arm and under the sleeve of her sweater. “No, no, Lydia, come on,” Stiles muttered frantically. He grabbed her hand, willing himself to take back the electricity or foxfire or whatever it was that had hurt her.

A sudden feeling of euphoria made him drop her hand in shock. The veins in his hands were black, and there was a feeling of satisfaction and sated hunger he hadn’t even realized was there in his stomach. He scrambled away, horrified at the pleasure he got out of her pain.

Scott was looking at him fearfully, and whatever bits were left of Stiles’ metaphorical heart broke a little bit more.

“She needs a hospital,” Kira said.

Scott scooped Lydia into his arms and carried her to Deaton’s car. Deaton got in the driver’s seat. After a hurried discussion, it was decided that Kira and Malia would go with them, and Scott would follow with Stiles in the jeep. Stiles noticed vaguely that in all the chaos, Peter had vanished.

“Stiles, come on,” Scott said, tugging him to his feet. “I’ll drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah! That happened. Sorry it's been so long if anyone's actually following this story, but I've been busy and uninspired regarding this story for a while. Hopefully that will change soon and I'll get back to updating this a little more regularly. Let me know what you thought, and that becomes even more likely!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long to update! I'm running low on inspiration and also have about eight other stories going. I haven't abandoned this, but updates will be irregular and probably take a long time. (But they will take less time if you leave comments)

Stiles allowed himself to be led away without protest. He felt numb. The pleasant, satisfying feeling was gone, as was the power and rage. There was nothing left for him but guilt and shame and cold. He shivered slightly and pulled his sweatshirt tighter around him. Malia still had his jacket.

“You ok?” Scott asked tensely. Stiles nodded, but he couldn’t quite make himself say that he was fine. Scott seemed to understand, but he didn’t say anything.

When they arrived at the hospital, Malia was already carrying Lydia through the front doors. “She was shocked. Someone help,” she ordered. Several nurses and doctors came running. Soon they had Lydia on a gurney and had raced her upstairs. The rest of them were instructed to wait, so they sat in the crappy waiting room chairs, the vet and four teenagers with varying degrees of shock and trauma written on their faces.

Scott called Ms. Martin, and she promised to be there within the hour. Kira was talking to her mom, not explaining exactly but telling her where she was and who was hurt or not hurt. Scott gave her a tiny smile and sat back down in his chair next to Stiles. Stiles barely twitched in acknowledgement, still staring at the floor. His heartbeat was steady enough, and his breathing even, but Scott didn’t like the expression on his face one bit.

“Dude, you ok?” he asked quietly. Stiles nodded once, but it did nothing to alleviate Scott’s worries. “What’s wrong?”

“You mean aside from the fact that I just attacked almost everyone I know?” Stiles said, keeping his voice low but still sarcastic.

“Um…yeah.”

“Well, there’s the fact that I feed on my friends’ pain now.” Stiles didn’t look at Scott’s face, instead examining the metal armrest on his chair.

“You what?”

“In the woods when I touched Lydia, I felt it. Her pain. It wasn’t like it is for you though. It’s…it didn’t hurt me. It felt good. Like when you don’t even realize how hungry you are until you start eating.”

Scott stared at Stiles, willing him to look up, and finally Stiles did. “Stiles, I’m not going to lie and say that doesn’t scare the shit out of me. But it’s not your fault. You’re not bad.”  
Stiles just smiled sadly, but before Scott could continue arguing, the doctor came out to talk to them. Lydia was going to be fine, but they had to wait for Ms. Martin to come before they could go in and see her.

So they continued to wait. Stiles said nothing, just stared at the floor and fiddled with the strings on his sweatshirt. There was still blood on it. Kira’s mom was on her way, and Kira sat next to Scott with her hand on his arm. Malia was pacing agitatedly, caught between worry and impatience.

Ms. Martin arrived after ten minutes, and they were all allowed in. Now that they had a parent with them, Deaton elected to leave, saying he had other business to take care of, but they should call him if anything happened. Ms. Martin went in to see Lydia first, and five minutes later, Scott, Stiles, Kira, and Malia joined her.

Stiles stood near the doorway, unwilling to get too close to any of them, unable to get away because he knew they would notice. And anyway, he had to see. He had to see Lydia wake up.

She did so not long after. Her eyes flickered open, and she smiled slightly when she saw them all crowded around her. Stiles didn’t wait to hear the inevitable snarky comment. He slipped out the door while everyone was expressing their relief. No one noticed him go, but he knew they would before long, so he walked quickly.

“Stiles?”

Stiles turned and saw Derek Hale of all people, sticking his head out of a doorway to Stiles’ right.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Use your werewolf hearing. Figure it out,” Stiles retorted. He walked away. Whatever Derek was doing there could wait as far as he was concerned. He made it as far as the lobby before he ran into anyone else.

He tried to avoid eye contact with Mrs. Yukimura, but she walked right up to him, and there was really no way to get around that much determination.

“Stiles.”

“Um,” Stiles said cleverly.

“Where is Kira? What’s going on?”

“She’s upstairs with the others. Lydia’s awake, and it looks like she’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

Stiles hesitated, fidgeting nervously. “I happened,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. “I kind of still have some…traces of nogitsune in me, and I lost control of the foxfire.”

Mrs. Yukimura stepped backward. Surprise, fear, and anger showed on her face. “You’re still nogitsune?”

“Yeah. A little bit. I mean, I’m also still all me, but….” Stiles trailed off. “You still up for the whole killing me thing?”

Mrs. Yukimura frowned. “Absolutely not. We’re going back upstairs where I expect we’ll find your friends very worried, and then we’re going to sit down and have a nice, long talk.”

Stiles shook his head and tried to walk past her, but Mrs. Yukimura reached out and grabbed him by the ear.

“Ow!”

“Come on.” She dragged him to the elevator, and Stiles went with her reluctantly.

***

Scott had just noticed that Stiles was gone when his mother came into the room. “I just heard what happened. Someone said my son was here with an injured friend…again. Are you alright?” she asked Lydia.

“I’ll be fine. Mom, you should go home. You’re exhausted, and I’m fine. You can come back and pick me up in the morning.”

Ms. Martin looked like she was about to protest, but Lydia, for all that she looked tiny and pale in the hospital bed, was still a force to be reckoned with. Ms. Martin kissed her daughter’s forehead and left, promising to let them know if she saw Stiles on her way out.

Malia was about to go looking for her wayward boyfriend when he showed up in the doorway, dragged by the ear by the much shorter Mrs. Yukimura. It would have looked very funny if it weren’t for the expressions on their faces. Mrs. Yukimura looked angry and determined, Stiles disappointed and hopeless.

“Stiles, where the hell did you go?” Lydia asked, sitting up straighter to look more intimidating than should have been possible for a short, injured girl in a hospital bed.

“Just needed some air,” Stiles said petulantly.

“He asked me to kill him,” Mrs. Yukimura said.

There was instant uproar.

“Stiles, what the hell?”

“Mom!”

“No!”

“Stiles, how many times do we have to go over this!?”

“Stiles, why would you say that?”

“Um.” They all turned to the doorway where Derek was standing, looking at all of them with an incredibly confused expression. “What the hell is happening?”

“A good question,” Melissa said, returning her gaze to Stiles.

“How many times do we have to explain this?” he grumbled. “We should just get my dad and Chris Argent and anyone else we can think of here, get them all over with at once.”

“We’ll explain to them later. Explain to us now.”

Stiles sighed. “Okay. Parts of the nogitsune were made out of parts of me. Then I remade myself out of nogitsune too. Those parts are still in me because they are me. It basically means that I have unreliable, uncontrollable foxfire and some other powers too, probably like Kira’s. And apparently I still feed off pain and chaos and strife, so that’s just great. Anyway, it was activated or triggered or whatever when I had an assassin put a gun to my head. Then there was the virus, which started affecting me like a non-human after that. And apparently I have rage issues now or something because I have now hurt almost everyone in this room in the past few hours. So yes, I figured the safest way for everyone to continue their lives would probably be if I died.”

Stiles crossed his arms and glared at the ground.

“Stiles, come here,” Lydia said softly, holding out her hand. Stiles approached her bedside.

SMACK.

Stiles stumbled with the force of Lydia’s slap. Several people cried out.

“Lydia, what?”

“You! Absolute! Moron!” she said, punching whatever bit of him she could reach with each word. Stiles backed away. No one seemed willing to help him. “How many fucking times do we have to tell you that it’s not your fault?” Lydia fumed, “How many times do I have to tell you the exact same thing you told me before you get it into your head that you dying would actually be one of the worst possible things that could happen to us!?”

Stiles spluttered incoherently.

“You taught me control,” Malia chimed in, “And if you can teach _me_ control, you can learn to control this.”

“I’ll help,” Kira offered, “The foxfire at least is something I’m familiar with.”

“And I’m sure Dr. Deaton and I will be able to help you with the rest of it,” Mrs. Yukimura added.

Scott put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “We need you, dude. I need you.”

Stiles nodded jerkily and collapsed into a chair with his hands over his face. After hearing the first few sniffles, most of them decided to leave him with Scott and Lydia. Malia hesitated at first, but she was no good at the mushy stuff, and she figured Stiles wouldn’t mind too much.

Stiles waited until the room was mostly empty before allowing himself to really break down. He knew they could probably still hear him, but it wasn’t like he had much control over it. He didn’t seem to have control over anything, really. He could feel Lydia’s hand stroking his hair gently and Scott’s warm, comforting presence at his side. The fact that they were still there made him want to break down even further, but there wasn’t really much further to go.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally when he could get enough air to talk between sobs. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” Scott said, “We get it.”

“No you don’t.” Stiles sat up. “You don’t get it Scott. Neither of you do. You’ve never killed anyone.”

“Neither have you.”

.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Can we stop pretending it wasn’t my fault for a minute? I let the nogitsune in, the nogitsune was _partially made of me_ , and now it’s still in me, and if you add that up, I killed Allison. And Aiden, and all the people at the hospital and the Sheriff’s station. _I_ shot Coach, _I_ tortured Mr. Yukimura, and _I_ stabbed Scott. I hurt all of you, and it is my fault.”

“So what?” Lydia said. Stiles looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “You say it’s your fault. I say screw that. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but there’s no point _killing yourself_ over it. You think you did something wrong, you try to make it right. You don’t go around asking to die.”

“I can’t make this right.”

“Then make something else right. Do something good. Be here for us. Learn control. Then maybe you’ll be able to focus someday on how it wasn’t your fault. Because you fought it.”

“Not enough.”

“For God’s sake, Stiles! You fought with everything you had! You’re human! You couldn’t fight forever! Do you blame me for what I did when Peter was controlling me?”

“Of course not.”

“Then don’t blame yourself.”

Stiles couldn’t think of any way to argue with that logic. Scott looked impressed.

“What?” Lydia snapped at him.

“Nothing. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get through to him that well.”

***

Eventually the rest of them returned, and after being assured that Stiles wasn’t about to off himself or anything, Kira, Mrs. Yukimura, Melissa, and Derek left.

Lydia was to be released the next morning. The foxfire had knocked her out and numbed her arm for a while, but there didn’t seem to be any serious long-term consequences. Stiles was glad of that at least. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was also glad he had finally said some of the things that had been bothering him. He felt that much lighter for it. Not that he’d said everything of course, and not that he was totally convinced he wasn’t to blame. But it was nice to know they thought that, and maybe one day he would believe it too.

Stiles wanted to stay at the hospital overnight, but Lydia shooed them all away. They had to admit she had a point. Malia was already falling asleep in a chair using Stiles’ jacket as a blanket.

“Okay, we’ll go. Call us when you get out?” Scott said. Lydia nodded.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll be right there,” Stiles said. Scott nodded. Malia looked unhappy about it, but she allowed Scott to pull her away anyway.

“Are you really okay?” Stiles asked once they were gone.

Lydia shrugged. “I’m not in pain, if that’s what you’re asking. I can feel my arm. The doctors said I’d probably have a scar, but who knows? Maybe foxfire is different.”

“Yeah, well they also said you’re lucky to be alive.” Stiles stared at Lydia’s hand. “So…just promise me that if that happens again, you’ll stay back.”

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t know for sure, but my guess is that if I hadn’t been there, you would have done even more damage.”

“To Peter though, so really…”

“To yourself.”

“No. I’m actually pretty sure this is about as damaging as it gets.” Stiles smiled weakly. “You sure you don’t want any of us to stay?”

“I’m sure. Go rest.”

Stiles nodded and turned to go just as Scott burst in. “Malia left.”

“What?”

“The Dead Pool, the list was in your pocket. She saw her name on there and left.”

“No! Malia!” Stiles bolted out the door.

“She’s probably out of the building already, Stiles,” Scott said sadly, “We should never have kept it from her this long.”

“Damn it. We need to go after her.”

“No,” Lydia said sternly, “You need to give her a little while to cool off.”

“It’s not safe out there.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Malia can handle herself.”

“She’ll go to Peter.”

“And Peter will attempt to manipulate her, and she’ll come back to us, and then we repair the damage. But going after her right now is only going to get everyone more hurt. Just…just wait.”

Stiles and Scott continued to look worried, as did Lydia for that matter, but they agreed.


End file.
